


Only Fools Rush In

by colonel_bastard



Category: Treasure Planet (2002)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dry Humping, First Time, M/M, Sloppy Makeouts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-05
Updated: 2016-02-05
Packaged: 2018-05-18 09:38:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5923579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colonel_bastard/pseuds/colonel_bastard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The supernova never happens.  Silver and Jim are left alone in the longboat.  Gravity takes over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only Fools Rush In

**Author's Note:**

> The long-promised, eagerly-awaited, god-FINALLY-here-it-IS: THE LONGBOAT MAKEOUT
> 
> Come on we all hate that damn supernova for interrupting the galaxy's greatest snuggle session. Honestly it just goes to show that these two were SO CLOSE that only a CATASTROPHIC EVENT could distract them, and since I have now removed said catastrophic event, well... let's take a look. 
> 
> Title is taken from the song [Can't Help Falling In Love](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6ThQkrXHdh4), covered here by twenty one pilots. The full lyric is _"wise men say / only fools rush in / but I can't help falling in love with you."_
> 
> Tagged for underage since Jim is fifteen.

-

-

-

_You give up a few things, chasing a dream._

Sitting there with his head tipped back against the pillow of Silver’s organic arm, Jim closes his eyes and wonders what it is that Silver dreams about. It must really be something, for him to have sacrificed so much in its pursuit. It has to be something that would make Silver feel the way that Jim feels about Treasure Planet— like he’ll die if he doesn’t find it and make it his own. God, he wishes he could tell Silver about the map. He’s more convinced than ever that Silver would understand exactly what it means and why it matters so much.

He’s more convinced than ever that Silver would understand _him._

Jim’s never felt this way about anyone before. Like he actually wants Silver to know him, to _see_ him. He’s spent half his life trying to hide as much of himself as possible and now all of a sudden he can’t spill his guts fast enough. It’s insane. He didn’t think something like this was even possible, let alone that it would ever happen to him. Yet the longer they sit here together, the more Jim can feel it in his bones: _this is it._

It’s so quiet down in the launch bay. Jim’s senses are still drenched in adrenaline from their wild flight in the longboat, his fingertips crackling with energy, his skin buzzing with excitement. Even with his eyes closed he’s still seeing stars. He knows now that he could fly all the way from one end of the galaxy to the other, as long as he had Silver by his side. It’s everything he never even knew he needed and it’s here, sitting beside him, right now. There isn’t even a _word_ for something like this, not in all the languages Jim has overheard in the Benbow, not in any of the books in Dr. Doppler’s library. 

Whatever it is, it’s working on Jim as strong and sure as a gravitational pull, drawing him in like a falling star. He can’t resist. Slowly, as inconspicuously as possible, he shifts his weight so that he’s just _that much_ closer to Silver. He only dares to move a tiny bit before he settles down again, desperate to be discreet, holding his breath until he’s certain that Silver will make no comment on the matter. 

Nerves on high alert, he almost jumps when Silver’s arm lifts from the boat railing and comes down abruptly across his shoulders, huge and heavy and deliberate. It reverberates all the way through Jim’s body, down to his toes and back again, his head spinning with disbelief. Before he can even process what’s happening, Silver’s big, broad hand takes a firm grip on him and pulls him— oh God, pulls him _closer._

All at once Jim is pressed entirely along the length of Silver’s side, hip to hip, his shoulder wedged up under Silver’s armpit. It happens so fast. For a moment all he can do is stare straight ahead, too dazed to move. Then, as cautious as he is curious, he tilts his head and cranes his neck to take a peek up at Silver’s face. 

Silver still has his head tipped back and his hat pulled low over his eyes, giving no indication of any awareness of the monumental thing he’s just done. In fact he looks so undisturbed that Jim might almost believe that the act was an afterthought— if not for the way that Silver’s grip on his shoulder is even tighter now than it was before. 

Carefully, still dazed, Jim lets his own head drift down until it comes to rest with his ear nestled against Silver’s chest. He knows it’s coming but it still hits him hard, because _there it is_ — Silver’s heart, as big and powerful as the man himself, every beat like a timpani drum. Jim has to bite his lip against a sudden surge of emotion. Maybe it’s dumb, but he’s never listened to someone’s heart like this before. It’s so… personal. He shuts his eyes and loses himself in the sound. 

“Ye’re a good lad, Jimbo,” Silver murmurs, his thumb rubbing lightly at Jim’s shoulder. “Ye deserve t’have all yer plans come through for ye.” 

Jim can’t even bear to open his eyes. All he can do is try and get closer, twisting within Silver’s grip so he can reach up and grab on to the lapel of his jacket, his chest pulled flush against Silver’s side. It’s halfway to an embrace and it’s farther than Jim ever thought he’d get. His other arm is wedged down in his lap to hide his growing hard-on. He buries his face against Silver’s chest and breathes deep, burrowing towards his heart. 

Silver’s arm covers the whole span of his back now, heavy and warm. Maybe too warm. Jim is getting light-headed from it. He feels like a ship passing too close to a star, the solar sails cracking and rippling in the heat. Even his breathing is getting shallow, as if the air is too thin, or he just ran a marathon. Struggling to stay calm, he forces himself to take slow, even breaths and focus on the sound of Silver’s heartbeat, steady, steady. 

Only it’s not steady. It’s getting _faster_. 

Jim can’t believe it at first, won’t even dare to believe it. But the longer he listens, the more unmistakeable it becomes— Silver’s heart rate is climbing. Jim hears it accelerate from a walk to a run, the thudding louder and louder, Silver’s arm feeling heavier by the second. The grip on Jim’s shoulder has gotten so tight that Jim wonders if the next day will find him with a handprint bruise on his bicep. Funny how that doesn’t sound so bad. Funny how that sort of sounds amazing. 

Silver pulled him closer. Silver wants him here. Silver feels it, too. 

It really is quiet down in the launch bay. Jim can hear the creak of the ropes and the groan of the boards and his own jagged breathing, all jumbled together and echoing around up in the beams. He can hear Silver’s breathing, too, a fierce hiss through his teeth, like his jaw is clenched against any daft impulses. And there, right there against Jim’s ear, he can hear Silver’s heartbeat, as thunderous and insistent as a fist pounding on a door. 

God, he’s burning up. It doesn’t even feel like heat anymore. It feels like he’s about to burst out of his skin, like his blood is rushing so fast and at such boiling intensity that something inside of him is going to rupture from the strain. Helpless, Jim squirms against Silver’s side, practically crawling up the length of him, aching for something he can’t quite articulate.

A loud cracking sound makes him jump and open his eyes for what feels like the first time in days. The sudden light blinds him, but when his vision clears he looks across the span of Silver’s chest and down the length of his right arm to see that the cybernetic fingers have been clutching at the boat rail with such violence that they’ve torn out a fist-sized chunk of wood. Silver seems just as surprised by the destruction, and he drops the piece of debris as though he’s been burned by it. 

“Damn,” he curses, brittle, on the edge of breaking. 

He looks down. Jim looks up. Their gazes catch like magnets. Now they’re face to face, eyes open, nowhere left to hide. Silver looks… terrified. And overwhelmed. And full of hope. Jim is stunned— It’s like looking in mirror. After a moment, he can tell that Silver recognizes the same things in him, too. It sounds ridiculous to be able to look at someone and understand exactly what they’re thinking, but somehow Jim knows, he _knows_ , that they both want the same thing. 

“Jimbo,” Silver says, his voice hoarse.

“Please,” Jim says. “Please just kiss me.”

Silver sucks in a sharp breath, squeezing his eyes shut so quickly that it can only be a flinch. Panic explodes in Jim’s guts. Did he read the signs all wrong? Did he make a mistake? Did he just completely fucking ruin everything? His spine starts to go stiff, his legs tingling with the urge to make a break for it, to run away and never look back. 

Then Silver releases his breath and opens his eyes and Jim’s heart constricts at the sight of the organic eye glistening with tears. 

“Aye, lad,” Silver says. “Gladly.” 

Jim’s own gaze prickles and stings, but he’s not gonna cry, he’s _not_ gonna cry, goddamn it. 

It’s impossible to say who moves first. They lean towards each other in the same instant, Silver bowing his head and Jim bracing his toes on the deck so he can push up to meet him, his whole body stretched out along the length of Silver’s torso. His knees are so wobbly that he’s worried they might actually give out from under him— but then Silver’s organic hand moves up to cradle the back of his head and neck, holding him steady. In some distant corner of his mind, Jim notices that Morph had the tact to make himself scarce. 

And Silver kisses him. 

They kiss down in the quiet launch bay, side by the side in the longboat, the engine still warm and their clothes still wind-torn from their joyride through the etherium. They kiss timidly at first, Jim’s fingers curled around twin fistfuls of Silver’s jacket, Silver supporting him with just the one hand, its cybernetic counterpart still held back. They kiss like it’s the first time either of them has ever done so, which certainly isn’t true for Silver and technically isn’t true for Jim either, even though it sure feels like it. He really has no idea what he’s doing. He’s kissed a few girls from school, but only a few, and never like this. Never like he really means it. This is his first kiss that really _matters,_ and on the one hand yeah it’s just a kiss but on the other hand it might be the most important thing that’s ever happened in his life. 

They’re sloppy and uncoordinated in the beginning, both of them clumsy with nerves. Then Silver starts to find his bearings, and the hand on the back of Jim’s neck goes from passive support to active guidance, steering Jim into a rhythm complimentary to his own. They find the tempo together, Jim following Silver’s lead, Silver guiding him by touch. A harmony emerges between them. Somewhere along the line they both stop thinking about it. Somewhere along the line it goes from the scariest thing they’ve ever done to the easiest thing in the universe. And finally, finally, Silver’s cybernetic hand reaches over to take hold of him. 

The mechanical grip settles around Jim’s ass and gathers him up, hoisting him clean off the deck, the kiss still unbroken. Jim kicks up his feet like an idiot, giddy with the sheer thrill of liftoff. He’s not airborne for long; Silver pulls him over and Jim spreads his legs instinctively as he goes, ending up in a straddle over Silver’s belly. His full weight is now supported entirely by Silver’s body, more exhilarating than tumbling in zero-gravity. 

And when he flexes his hips, it grinds his erection right down into the heavy, warm bulk of Silver beneath him. 

Silver gives a deep groan, right into Jim’s mouth, the grip on the back of Jim’s neck turning fierce and tight. The mechanical grip tightens too, a vise around Jim’s waist that pulls him downward, insistent. Jim obediently scoots back and gives a groan of his own when he reaches Silver’s belt buckle and then comes into contact with the outline of Silver’s cock, hard and _hot_ even through the seat of Jim’s trousers. It’s enough to make Jim break off the kiss for the first time since they started, so overwhelmed that he has to sit back and gasp for air like a drowning man, his senses reeling. He tries to focus on what’s in front of him— but that only makes him dizzier, since he can hardly believe what he sees. 

There’s Silver, open-mouthed and panting, his face flushed with exertion and his organic eye dazed and half-lidded with arousal. Even the cybernetic eye looks different, the usual brassy gold now faded to something almost white, casting Silver’s rough features in a hazy glow. For a moment there he looks just as lost as Jim feels. Then a shadow falls over him, his brow creasing with worry while his grip on Jim goes slack, hesitant. He doesn’t realize that Jim has only paused to catch his breath. He thinks that Jim felt _him_ and recoiled. 

“Is— is this not what ye want, Jimbo?” His eyes dart back and forth as he scans Jim’s face for a sign. God, he looks terrified. “Just say the word and we’re done. Full stop.” 

And Jim almost laughs because he’s never wanted anything _so much._ He doesn’t know how to explain it in words, but he does have actions, and with great deliberation he reaches up to tug the hat off of Silver’s head. With the other hand he takes hold of Silver’s face, and when he smiles at him he sees the fear in Silver’s expression give way to raw hope and longing. 

“This is what I want,” Jim murmurs. “I want you.”

“In that case I’d say ye’re a fool, James Hawkins,” Silver murmurs back. “A damn fool.” 

Jim doesn’t argue. He just lets the hat fall from his fingertips so he can use both hands to pull Silver down and kiss him again. And this time when he flexes his hips, he grinds his erection against Silver’s belly while grinding his ass against Silver’s cock. 

“ _Gods,_ ” Silver hisses, the syllable clipped out in the fraction of space between their mouths.

It’s the sound of a man at his limit and it only makes Jim reach for more, his hands moving from Silver’s face to the back of his neck, his fingers locked together at the nape to keep him close. Silver doesn’t protest. His hands are moving too, the cybernetic one switching up to support Jim’s head while the organic one settles decisively over Jim’s ass, the grasp so broad that Silver’s thumb hooks over Jim’s left hip while his little finger hooks over the right. The heel of his hand is at the small of Jim’s back and that’s where Silver presses down, hard, grinding Jim against him in the same perfect places, even better than it was the first time. On the third try they move together, Jim rolling his hips while Silver presses down, and this time it’s so good that Jim cries out, wordless, so untethered from himself that he has to unknot his fingers and grab on to the collar of Silver’s jacket for an anchor. 

Silver breaks off the kiss to nuzzle at the crook of Jim’s neck, his breath hot down the front of Jim’s shirt. 

“All right, Jimbo?” he pants.

“So good,” Jim wheezes. It’s about as coherent as he can manage. “Don’t— don’t stop. So good.” 

He mouths hungrily at the side of Silver’s neck until Silver finally turns back and kisses him again, deep and devoted as a promise. Jim used to wonder what it would taste like to really kiss the daylights out of somebody. In the heat of it, he’s hardly aware of a taste at all. He’s more attuned to the soft, wet sounds, the warmth of Silver’s tongue, the smell of his breath. He can feel the pads of the cybernetic fingertips roving through his hair — _is it soft? warm? what does Silver feel when he touches him?_ — and then one of the sensors makes its way down to the skin of his neck. Silver’s right thumb nestles under Jim’s jaw, the pad pressed with gentle insistence against his throat, and when it stays there Jim knows exactly what Silver is doing. 

_He’s listening to my heartbeat._

Jim leans into the touch, electrified. He can’t even begin to imagine what his heart must sound like right now. It must be goddamn pandemonium, atriums and ventricles pumping triple time, arteries choking on the deluge. The whole thing is hammering against Jim’s ribs like a wild animal trying to break out of a cage, every inch of his skin straining with the effort to contain it. He wonders if Silver can hear any of that in the breakneck pulse pounding against his sensor pad, if he can read the savage devotion written into every beat, every breath. _I’m yours,_ Jim wants to scream at him, and maybe someday he will. Right now he just wants to be _here._ The universe is getting smaller by the second. It’s already shrunk down to the size of this longboat; soon it will be entirely contained within the boundary of Silver’s arms. 

_Silver._ Jim can’t get enough of him, not his mouth, not his hands, not his face. Jim has spent months studying him from a distance, learning the language of Silver’s cybernetic eye and wildly expressive features. All that contemplation and he’s never been so close— he has to explore. He releases Silver’s collar so that his fingertips can move to his face, feeling him out like a blind man meeting a stranger. Their mutual tempo slows to accommodate the inspection, the kisses turning lazy and languid, the rocking motion between them unhurried and undemanding. Jim has all the time in the world to trace the deep valleys at the corners of Silver’s mouth, the lines that seem to have been carved there by Silver’s habit of talking out of one side or the other. He smoothes his thumbs across Silver’s brows, then brings them back around to run down the length of Silver’s broad nose. 

His left hand starts to move towards the cheekbone bolt of the cybernetic rig, then retracts, uncertain. Silver gives a little hum in response, the sensor pad on Jim’s throat leaving the pulse point to brush affectionately against his cheek. Then he reaches up to take Jim’s wrist and guide his fingertips to the curved outline of the rig itself, Jim’s hand now arched above it so that the whirring motion of the mechanism stirs the air under his palm, taking his breath away. It’s a gesture of astonishing intimacy— like Silver just pushed Jim’s hand through his ribcage and pressed his fingertips to his beating heart. And to think that when they first met Jim thought the rig was foreboding. Now he loves every piece of it, every gear and bolt and screw, because it’s all a part of Silver and every part of Silver is precious to him. There’s a thick ridge of scar tissue all around the circumference of the implant and Jim strokes it decisively, as if to say, _yes, I love even this._

His right hand wanders almost as an afterthought, out past the temple and towards Silver’s hair. He brushes against Silver’s ear as he goes, and while he’d noticed in the past that it was capable of doing so, he’s still startled when the ear flickers away from his touch. Jim yanks his hand back with a quick jerk. 

“Sorry,” he gasps, worried that he might have hurt him, that the ear might be more sensitive than he realized. 

“No, no,” Silver’s out of breath. “Took me by surprise, is all.” 

Tentative, Jim extends his hand again. “Uh... can I…?”

“Er…” Silver chuckles, flustered. “I, uh, suppose I don’t see why not.” 

Maybe there’s no reason to say no, but there’s no reason to say yes, either. Silver’s a real gem for indulging him and Jim knows it. 

Jim reaches carefully for the ear. They both laugh when it flickers away from his touch again; a compulsive reflex. Finally Jim gets a grip on it, holding it gingerly between his thumb and his first two fingers. It’s much warmer than he thought it would be. The inner ear is bare skin while the back is velvet-soft, delicate. Jim is tracing his thumb over the golden curve of the earring when he notices that Silver has gone very still beneath him. Only then does it occur to him that the ear is one of the most vulnerable points on the skull— so easy to tear, to cripple. Silver only has one left and he’s been guarding it in fights for who knows how long. It has to go against every instinct he has to allow Jim to grab on to it like this. 

Jim must be the luckiest son of a bitch in the galaxy. 

“Hey,” he says. 

And on an absurd impulse, he scratches his fingernails against the shell of Silver’s ear. The effect is instantaneous; Silver’s whole body seems to go stiff in one instant and then completely melt in the next, an unexpected groan bubbling out of his chest while his eyes roll closed in sudden bliss. Inspired, Jim keeps scratching, and soon Silver’s mouth is hanging open, his brow furrowed and his eyes firmly screwed shut, the cybernetic hand latched airlock-tight onto Jim’s shoulder. It’s clear that the sensation has completely blindsided him. Has no one ever done this for him before? It sure seems like it. There are two possibilities— either Silver’s never allowed anyone to do it or no one ever offered — but either way it looks like Jim is the first. _Triumphant_ doesn’t even begin to describe the feeling. Jim scratches until his fingers turn clumsy from the repetition, just so he can say he did it _first_ and _best_. When he finally has to withdraw his hand, Silver’s eyes stutter open like he’s waking from a coma, dazed and disoriented. 

“That was great,” Jim grins, flexing his cramped wrist. 

His smile fades when he sees the way that Silver is looking at him. It’s a hollow look, the gaze clouded with something like grief, the mouth warped into a faint grimace. Jim’s stomach lurches up in freefall, a fist of apprehension tightening around his throat. 

“What?” he asks, sick. “What’s wrong?”

Silver’s mouth twists in a way that Jim has never seen before. He thought he was fluent but this one bewilders him utterly— it’s not sadness, it’s not anger— it’s a combination, somehow— Jim has no idea what to do or say. Then Silver averts his gaze, glancing away into some distant corner. 

“Jim,” he says, just _Jim,_ a paragraph of weight compressed into a single syllable. 

All Jim can do is hold his breath. Silver’s voice is weak and halting. 

“Ye know— ye know I would never— never do _anything_ that might— I would never let ye come to harm.” With his head turned aside, Jim can see that Silver’s ear is pinned flat against his skull, unreadable. “Why I’d— I’ll do anything— whatever it takes. I won’t let ye get hurt, Jimbo, I swear it.”

Jim’s breath comes in short, shallow gulps. When he blinks he breaks the seal and the tears roll free, falling down his face and ending as little dark spots on Silver’s shirt below. Silver sees himself as something dangerous. He sees himself as something not worthy of love. Jim knows the feeling. 

“Silver,” he says. 

Silver glances back at him— that expression— _shame? is it shame?_ — Jim makes eye contact and won’t let him look away. 

“I trust you.”

Silver shakes his head, his eyes mournful. “Ye’re a fool.”

“Yeah, well,” Jim smirks. “It takes one to know one, old man.”

Grabbing Silver firmly by the collar, he draws him in for a determined kiss. Silver doesn’t resist, his hands resting meekly on Jim’s back, neither encouraging nor discouraging. Jim kisses him slow and sweet, his hips rocking in just the same way, coaxing him with lips and tongue and the motion of his body. Silver sighs against his mouth, aching, wanting. Jim grows more insistent, deeper, harder, pouring himself over Silver like rain, unrelenting. He cradles Silver’s face in his shaking hands and wills him to _understand_ that it’s _all right_. When that’s not enough he fumbles up and pulls off Silver’s bandana, then plunges his fingers into the warm, damp hair underneath. Silver’s hair is short and thick and drenched in sweat, clinging to Jim’s fingers even as he burrows for two fistfuls and pulls hard. He knows Silver can take it. And he wants Silver to know that he’s not afraid. 

“Ah,” Silver moans, his hands tightening on Jim’s back. “ _Jimbo_ —”

“You won’t hurt me,” Jim pants. “Just touch me. Please. I want you to touch me.” 

And he kisses Silver with everything he’s got, his heart on his sleeve and his hands knotted in Silver’s hair. It’s all or nothing. 

He shouldn’t be that surprised when Silver kisses back. 

When it comes down to all or nothing, it’s in Silver’s nature to choose _all_ every time. 

They’re bound together now, tangled up and sinking like a stone. _Sometimes plans go astray._ Jim sure didn’t plan on this. He doesn’t even care that he has no idea what he’s doing anymore; he just grabs and kisses and surrenders to the rest. Silver’s cybernetic hand grips his ass and steers him back into the rocking motion from before, both of them so close to the edge that they’re shaking. Jim releases his fists so he can card his fingers through Silver’s hair, sometimes running a thumb along the curve of the cybernetic rig, sometimes scratching his nails on the back of Silver’s ear. Anything to touch as much of him as he can. Nothing has ever felt so right in his hands, not the tiller of a longboat or even the golden sphere of the treasure map, opening for him under pure tactile instinct. This is more than instinct. This is harmony. 

Right on cue, right when Jim wants it most, Silver gathers a handful of Jim’s shirt and draws it upwards, pulling it untucked from his trousers. There’s a slow drag of fabric across the small of Jim’s back and then all at once he’s exposed to the cool air of the launch bay, a wave of gooseflesh rising up in protest. A moment later and it’s soothed away by Silver’s wide, warm palm, as he slips his organic hand under the garment and spreads his thick fingers across the span of Jim’s bare back, covering and claiming him. Silver’s hands already look big from a distance, but _damn,_ when they’re on you they feel _huge._ It feels like he could close that hand into a fist and crush Jim in half without breaking a sweat— which makes it all the more mind-boggling to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he would never, ever do it. Pushed up under Jim’s shirt, Silver’s hand is so big that it pulls the fabric tight against Jim’s chest, the seams straining to contain them both. 

“Damn the Fates and damn the Furies,” Silver growls, his claws digging into Jim’s shoulder blades. “I’ll burn down the heavens before I let them take you away from me.” 

Jim whines and arches into his touch, hoping that at least one claw will break the skin and leave a scar. 

The launch bay isn’t so quiet anymore. It’s filled with the sounds they’re making; breathless moans and sharp, staccato grunts, the overhead pulleys creaking and grumbling as the longboat sways back and forth below. Jim has never been so aware of his own body, nerves and synapses firing that he never even knew he _had_ , every shattered fragment of him finally united by one all-consuming need. He doesn’t know how much more of this he can take. It’s too much— too good—

“Jim,” Silver wheezes. “Jimbo— _ah_ —”

On the edge of climax, he crushes his arms around Jim’s back— and Jim comes _hard,_ hard and fast and sudden, a ragged cry tearing out of his throat while the rest of him shudders and jerks out of control. Silver surges underneath him as orgasm breaks over him like a wave, his massive frame wracked with tremors, his lungs throbbing with a prolonged groan. Jim can’t even say how long it lasts. He just holds on and rides it out, every unbelievable second of it, right up until the aftershocks begin to recede and the stars fade from his vision. Then he collapses against Silver’s chest, utterly spent. 

His sweaty head tucks under Silver’s chin like it was meant to fit there. The cybernetic hand comes to rest on his back while the organic one settles at the nape of Jim’s neck, cradling his head, the gesture equal parts possessive and protective. Jim lies there and listens to the heartbeat under his ear slow from a gallop to a canter to an exhausted trot. They’re both coming down, one breath at a time. 

“Steady,” Silver says out loud. “Steady, now.” 

It’s not clear whether he’s talking to Jim or to himself. 

They really can’t afford to tarry here much longer. It’s already a small miracle that they haven’t been discovered yet, too caught up in the heat of the moment to stop and think how reckless they were for making such a scene out in the open where anyone could wander by. If they had an ounce of common sense between them they would bolt straightaway— but then again, if they had an ounce of common sense between them, they wouldn’t be here now. At this point they might as well linger for another minute or so. The damage has already been done. 

There’s sweat drying on Jim’s back and a dull ache in his thighs. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Silver’s hat lying on its side, right where he dropped it. It’s not that far from where Silver dropped the torn-out chunk of railing. Every single detail bursts with newfound clarity. _This is it._ They breathe together. Nothing will ever be the same. 

Silver’s cybernetic thumb strokes the space between Jim’s shoulders, soft, reverent. 

“A pair of fools, then,” he murmurs. “So be it.” 

Jim squeezes his eyes shut, helpless. 

It’s quiet down in the launch bay. 

 

 

 

____________end.


End file.
